


Asking For Disaster

by Queenie_Mab



Series: PJO ficlets and oneshots [3]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Mab/pseuds/Queenie_Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apollo is depressed and for some reason Rachel seems to think Percy will be able to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asking For Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Based on prompt #4 "Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?" from an [ask-meme](http://mab-speaks.tumblr.com/post/113494424154) on Tumblr. Requested by [nuclearblast-fangirl](http://nuclearblast-fangirl.tumblr.com/).

~*~

  


"Please? He's driving me crazy," Rachel pleads. 

"All right," I say, groaning. I scrub the sleep out of my eyes and glare at her. It's ass o'clock in the morning, my first morning back at camp in five years. You'd think I'd be allowed to sleep in at least once. 

"Thanks, Percy. I wouldn't ask, but … I think you'll be able to get through to him." She gives me a weary smile before she leaves. 

I blink, staring up at the ceiling of my cabin for a couple of minutes, my limbs heavy, like they want to pull me back under. I wonder what the hell is up with Apollo. I haven't even seen him since the war ended. I wonder why Rachel thinks _I'd_ be able to help him out. Apparently, he showed up a couple of months ago in her cave and practically moved in. Rachel says he's depressed, that he just lies around watching TV some days, not talking, and other times he's so clingy she can't get anything done. 

I throw my blankets back, the cool sea-scented air washing over me and giving me the energy to move. Might as well get this over with. 

__

~*~

  


I push past the purple curtain covering the entrance to Rachel's cave and step inside. The only light at the moment comes from an old-fashioned oil lamp on one of the end tables. Rachel's couch has been altered into a low platform, still cushioned, but without a back or sides and Apollo is sprawled across it on his stomach. 

He's dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and nothing else. There's a sort of heat rising off of him that makes me want to step closer, like basking in the warmth of a fire. I can see his back muscles move under his skin as he shifts, and then my face heats up when I realize he's looking at me. 

"If it isn't Percy Jackson, Hero Extraordinaire. What've you been up to? It's been a long time." 

He smiles lazily, not bothering to sit up, just lies on his side, twisting his torso so every single abdominal muscle is on display. His blond hair is bright in the dim light, gleaming golden and almost glowing like it's on fire. 

I'm not an idiot, even though I sometimes sound like one. I know what this feeling in my guts is, this pull, but Apollo's a god. He's been around for eons and has so much more experience than me in every possible way. I don't need to be crushing on him. 

I step forward a few paces, reminding myself to stay cool, to not let my hormones make me look stupid. "I've been fine," I lie. I'm not going to talk to Apollo about my failed love life. "Staying busy. What's up with you though? Rachel says you're off your game."

His smile slips and he rolls back onto his stomach, arms up, his face tucked to the side and hidden by his bicep. The silence between us starts to grow awkward until he finally speaks, his voice low and quiet. "I'm depressed."

I'm not sure why, but the honesty in his tone, the real sadness just hits me smack in the heart. I feel like I want to do something, anything to help cheer him up, but I don't have a clue where to start. 

"Do you … well … I mean … I could give you a massage?" The words are out of my mouth before I even register them, but when he lifts his head, his eyes wide and hopeful, I don't want to take them back.

"I would welcome a massage," his eyes seem to twinkle and he pats the cushion he's lying on, an invitation.

I sit down, attempting to ignore the persistent ache in my groin at the idea of touching his body. A jar of massage oil appears beside me and I slick my hands with it. I hold my breath, my hands hovering over his back, the heat rising up from him making me heady. When I finally touch him, it's like the sensation of taking the first bite of one of my mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven. I want to indulge until I gorge myself. 

I spread the oil over his shoulder blades, gripping his ribs, sliding my hands down to his waist, and I have to adjust my position. I straddle his thighs without a thought, and run my hands up along his spine, then squeeze the tops of his shoulders. His breathing grows faster, soft sighs reaching my brain through the lust haze and I know I'm in trouble, beyond the ability to stop it. 

Apollo flips himself onto his back faster than snake catching its prey and the next thing I know, he's tearing off my shirt and I'm drunk on his lips. 

Disaster never tasted so sweet.


End file.
